


Hand to Mouth

by To_Shiki



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adaar appears!, Come Swallowing, Feeding Kink, Finally, Hand Feeding, Hand injury, Healing, I still can't write battles, Injury Recovery, M/M, Minor Injuries, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prisoner of War, Starvation, Weight Gain, coming on command
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2018-04-18 07:55:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4698236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/To_Shiki/pseuds/To_Shiki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the DAI kink meme:  "It is my kink, and it seems to be Dorian's too, so it needs to happen. It can be erotic thing, or maybe Dorian somehow injured and can't eat on his own, so Bull has to feed him, I do not care. Any additional kinks will be ok."</p><p>Will be a 5+1 deal</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sleepy

1 Sleepy

Quiet fidgeting outside The Iron Bull’s bedroom door had him reaching up to grab the handle of his axe with one hand and the other tightened its possessive grip on one bare asscheek of his slumbering mage.  He breathes deep, straining his ears as the person outside his door stills.

“Chief?”

He releases his hold on the ax handle, instead moving to twitch the blanket up and over Dorian’s exposed body.  Relaxing he calls out, “Come in, Krem.”  His voice is low enough to carry and deep enough not to cause the mage to awaken.

As quietly as possible the Charger picks the lock and enters the bedroom.  He throws an exasperated glare at the Qunari for actually locking it.  Using the faint lighting from the hallway to guide him, he picks his way barefoot over to the bed, nearly tripping and falling on his face from someone’s discarded clothing close to the bed.

The hop-stumble has him landing on his knees beside the bed louder than desired.  It was just loud enough to have Dorian scrunching up his nose in displeasure and shifting about in an attempt to awaken.  Both mercenaries are quick to sooth him back to dreams.  The Bull rubbing his hands gently up and down his back as Krem strokes his hair, blunt nails lightly scratching at his scalp.

Keeping up the relaxing motions Krem whispers, “Got a mission, Chief.  Need to leave by first light to go and rescue some poor bastards being terrorized by the Venatori.”  He moves his hand down to his fellow ‘vint’s neck and squeezes gently, a move he’s watched the Iron Bull do countless times before to still a squirming mage.  “Got maybe an hour to say goodbye.”  Dorian’s eyebrows furrow, mind niggling at him that something’s different.

The Iron Bull nods, nudging his lieutenant’s hand away to take his place.  “How long we looking at here?”  His hand, so much larger than Krem’s, covers more skin and the steel grip – so soft yet unyielding – finally has Dorian settling deeper into sleep.

Shifting up to a squat Krem puts his hands on his sore knees.  “A coupla days there, however long it takes to kill or chase out the bad guys, then a couple back.”  He stands up, groaning internally as his knees protest the move.  “Almost a week, no more than two.”  He waits until the Bull nods his understanding before heading to the door, leaving and shutting it noiselessly behind him.

Star light replaces the glow from the hallway as the Bull lets his head fall back onto the pillow a little heavier than usual.  Awake he can hear Krem shove his feet back into his boots left behind by the door.  He’s careful to step lightly as he makes his way back down.  The Bull tightens his grip on Dorian's neck unconsciously.

A week away from his mage?  Means while he’s away Dorian would most likely sequester himself away in the library researching or sticking as close as unobtrusively as possible to the other members of the Inner Circle.  He would have to remember to leave a note for the Boss to keep an eye on Dorian, make sure he remembers to eat and sleep since he usually forgot about those necessities if someone didn’t forcibly remind him.

The distrustful glares from the rest of Skyhold would reinforce his need to hide himself away and work harder than is healthy.  The Inquisition was still too new for the other inhabitants to understand that the Tevinter mage was indeed an ally.

Carefully extracting himself from under his mage he pulls his pillow down to take his place.  He can’t help the soft snort of approval, nostrils flaring, as the man clings to the pillow and sighs happily.  Picking up their clothing on his way to the door he dresses as he locates his own.  He leaves quietly but not before turning to take in the sight of his lover rubbing his nose into his pillow once more.

~*~

Dorian jolts wakes to find his loose embrace around his large lover has become a chokehold around the other man’s pillow.  He huffs, all manner of put out at suddenly waking and finding himself alone at such a terrible hour, and flops gracelessly onto his back.  With a sign he stretches fingers to the headboard and toes to the points before a pleasant twinge in his lower back has his limbs falling limp against the mattress.

Another sigh escapes him as he lets his eyes fall shut, welcoming the creeping exhaustion back.  The feel of something trickling out of his ass has him smiling in pleasure at the reminder of how full he’d been of The Bull’s seed earlier that night.  He squeezes his thighs together, flexing the muscles to rub the fluid into his skin.  As his mind slowly awakens despite his body’s protests he’s able to register the satisfying aches and pains from their rather vigorous lovemaking.

The turning of the doorknob has him jerking his head in its direction, eyes wide like a child caught with dessert before dinner.  He has a hand up, tendrils of lightning sparking menacingly before the silhouette finally registers.

He lets go of the magic with an exasperated sigh and his arm flops back down to the mattress as the Iron Bull chuckles at him.  “Were you about to defend you and my bed, little mage?”  The Bull shuts the door gently, careful not to drop the tray in his hands.  “Who would dare come to my quarters to attack?”

“Merely stretching,” Dorian deflects.  “Trying to entice you back to bed.  It’s dreadfully cold in here without you.”  The statement’s punctuated by arms going up and over his head, body bared to the chill air all the way down to just above his groin.  Dark purple bruises, put there just hours ago, litter the skin around his hips as he tilts his head back to show off numerous hickies on his neck.  Eyes half-mast with sleep belie his intentions as the adrenaline fades.  Under the thin sheet one leg lazily shifts against the bed, leaving a Bull sized space between strong thighs.

The grip on the tray goes white knuckled as the Iron Bull struggles to reign in his self-control.  A week away from this gorgeous creature, while he’s done it before (before there were emotions involved), it was never pleasant.  The mission was important and he and his Chargers were needed.  Placing the food on the bedside table he sits sideways on the edge of the bed, a hand going to brush limp bangs away from enticing eyes.

“How about some energy first, then another round?”  He lets his hand drift down to brace his weight over the prone man in his bed.  The other goes to the tray and deftly plucks a grape to hold it against Dorian’s lips.  “Peeled these just for you, ya know,” the Bull mock whines when all Dorian does is smile closed-lipped against the fruit.

Quick as a viper Dorian opens his mouth and sucks both fruit and the Bull’s fingers into his mouth.  He close his lips around his prize, sucking hard on the thick digits once they release the grape.  He tries to wrap his tongue around the thumb as the Iron bull pulls them out of his mouth with a wet pop.  He hums happily as he eats.

When he makes no move to grab his own food the Bull raises an eyebrow.  “You wanting me to feed you every last bite, huh?”  He shifts his hand from the bed to rest on Dorian’s chest, smirking as he feels his heartbeat increase at the thought.

With an innocent smile the mage makes a pitiful attempt at stretching again.  A sharp jolt of electricity shoots up his spine.  “You were so rough last night I can’t feel my legs.  So yes, now you have to suffer the consequences of your actions and feed me.”

“Can’t feel your legs?  How does that impair your arms and hands?”

“It just does.  Now feed me.”  Knowing he’s won Dorian slightly parts his lips waiting.

With a put upon sigh The Iron Bull obeys.  Piece by piece he slowly feeds his mage, letting his fingers trace over his lips as each bit is chewed and swallowed.  Lets that talented tongue dart out and lick the juices off.  Knowing he’d be gone for so long The Bull made sure to grab a little extra, more than he normally adds to Dorian’s plates.  The hand on Dorian’s chest slowly shifts down to rub soothingly over Dorian’s slight belly as he eats.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

The Iron Bull’s hand freezes right over the squint-or-you’ll-miss-it swell of belly fat Dorian was finally putting on.  _‘Uh oh.’_   The Iron Bull quickly grabs another bite of fruit to feed his mage, teasingly rubbing along his lower lip before being welcomed in.  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Kadan.”  His thumb twitches nervously over smooth skin.

_‘Shit shit shit.  He’s finally noticed.  He’s going to insist on cutting back.  Give him another piece of bread befo-‘_

“You honestly think I didn’t hear the two of you yakking at each other at such an unholy hour?”

The Iron Bull freezes again, hand holding buttered bread halfway to Dorian’s mouth. _‘What?’_

Dorian eyes the piece of bread before quickly raising his head enough to close his lips around the morsel, always conscious of keeping his hands in place by the headboard.  The Iron Bull is still processing that he hadn’t been caught fattening up his lover and so needs the gentle nibbling on Dorian’s behalf to let go of the food.

He smirks.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  The way Dorian’s sucking at his fingers, dexterous tongue wrapping around his forefinger has his cock stirring to attention.

Any other time and he’d gladly forego the food until later so he could fulfill the simmering desire so plainly written across Dorian’s face.  But the sun was soon to break the horizon and he was to be gone by the time its light graces Skyhold’s presence.

Dorian gives an unimpressed snort as he stretches, only shuddering slightly as he feels more cum leak out of his ass at the change of position.  “You’re trying to distract me from the fact that you’re leaving.”  The mage pouts playfully, trying to hide the smidgen of insecurity still lingering.  The Iron Bull chuckles softly, feeding him another piece of fruit.  He makes sure his desire for the Bull to return to bed is clear in his eyes as he sucks more juice off the fingers in his mouth.

“Only for a week, at most,” the Bull assures.  He slides his free hand down Dorian’s belly, over his half hard cock, and eases two fingers right into Dorian.  His girth and their multiple rounds has left him loose and wet enough for more fun.  “Think you can keep yourself _entertained_ for that long?”  He twists his wrist, shoving his fingers against Dorian’s sweet spot.

The sharp movement causes the bedsheet to shift down, exposing Dorian’s rapidly hardening cock.  It slaps against Dorian’s belly as he spreads his legs for the Bull.  The mage keeps his hands over his head, gripping his pillow tightly.

“Good boy,” The Bull coos, feeding him several more pieces of fruits and breads and cheeses.  He keeps a careful eye on Dorian to make sure the building pleasure doesn’t have him choking on his breakfast.

“Look at you.  So beautiful for me, Kadan.  Such a good boy you are.”  The Iron Bull holds the last piece out, enjoying the way Dorian’s panting breathes ghost hot over his skin.  “Come on, Dorian.  Once more piece and then you may come.  One more.”

Dorian keens as the Bull stills his hand, thumb a steady pressure against his perineum.  It takes him several seconds to calm his breathing enough to allow the Bull to put the last piece in his mouth.  Creamy butter melts over his tongue as the Bull rubs his fingers lovingly over Dorian’s cheek, pride in his eye as he swallows down his final bite.

“Good boy,” The Iron Bull breathes in wonder, eye flicking over to the plate and seeing nothing but crumbs soaking up leftover fruit juice.  “That’s my good boy.”  He sets a brutal pace, just short of stabbing the bundle of nerves, to bring him off quickly.  He can faintly hear the others gathering outside over the increasing volume of Dorian’s groaning.

He’s running out of time.

Leaning down he places a soft kiss against the crown of Dorian’s purpling cock.  "Come for me, Kadan.”

And he does.  With a wail he covers his belly and chest with strips of his seed.  The Bull takes him in hand, moving in tandem with his thrusting fingers, to milk him through the end of his release.  He can’t help the groan of longing that escapes him as Dorian’s ass clenches down on the fingers still in him.

Riding’s going to be extremely uncomfortable with the hard on he’s about to be sporting but oh so worth it.

Only once Dorian sprawls bonelessly against the bed is the Iron Bull able to remove his fingers without causing any pain.  One hand goes to stroke longingly at skin under Dorian’s beauty mark.  The other goes back to the little swell of fat along Dorian’s stomach, firmly rubbing the man’s cum over and into his skin.  The Iron Bull will clean him up in a bit.  Just as soon as… his eyes… close.

Drawing away slowly he walks quietly to the wash basin and wrings out a cloth.  On the way back he stokes the fire, ensuring that the room will be warm enough by the time Dorian wakes again.

Gently he wipes him down, pressure firm enough to keep from being ticklish.  Dorian gives a sleepy murmur of appreciation.  He snuggles down into the bedding as the Iron Bull tucks him in.

Gathering up his pack he prepared before heading to the kitchens the Iron Bull pauses at the door.  Looking down the hallway he can see Krem waiting for him, a bemused but knowing smirk on his handsome face.

Once last look at his sleeping mage, a pleased sigh as he shifts in bed, and the Bull closes the door.


	2. Injured feat. BAtIBF!Dorian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fight with fire and you will get burned.

A week passes.  Followed by a day.  Two days.  Three.  On the forth Leliana’s spies were sent out.  The Inquisitor tried not to worry, constantly reassuring everyone (himself) that the older Qunari and his men were fine. 

Just held up. 

Without sending word.

On the fifth a boy from the troubled village arrives on horseback with one of the spies.  Dropping from the horse before the spy could dismount, he runs over to the Inquisitor.  The child is filthy with scrapes and bruises everywhere.  He’s panting as if he’d run here on his own two legs and nearly collapses in Adaar’s arms when he reaches him.

Instead he falls to his knees before the large Qunari, trembling arm raising his fist high above his head.  There’s black cords dangling down and Dorian _knows_.  Slowly, so careful not to spook the boy, Adaar takes his fist in both of his large hands.  The boy lets go of the message he was forced to carry.

A bent and charred eyepatch falls from his hand into Adaar’s.  Dorian feels his stomach twist, bile rising up to the back of his throat.  He hates being right.

The boy speaks of a trap.  The Chargers and their leader captured alive.  To be used as bait to capture the Inquisitor and his Inner Circle.  How they have no more than two days to show before the Venatori start sending body parts to Skyhold. 

Adaar ushers the boy into the arms of the summoned healer.  Turning he calls for Varric and Cassandra to ready themselves for a rescue mission.  He’s trying to decide between Vivienne or Solas as his mage when Dorian approaches him.

“How soon do we leave?”

Adaar wants to tell him no.  Wants to tell Dorian it would be best for him to stay, to be ready when they bring their men home.  But he can _see_ the magic swirling chaotically around him.  Purple wisps, flickering in and out of sight, rise off his person as fists clench when Adaar opens his mouth to deny him.

“Half hour.  Pack light.”

~*~

A day and a half of hard riding has them at the village.

They’re attacked as soon as they dismount.

One of them is foolishly using the Iron Bull’s great ax.  Dorian kills him on the spot.  As soon as he falls another is there to take his place, straining to pick up the heavy weapon to use against him.

She falls.  The next falls.  And the next.  And the next.

It takes too long for Adaar and the other two to notice the pattern:  too many Venatori focused on taking out the defected Tevinter mage and only a handful to keep the other three too far away to assist him. 

It doesn’t matter.

The fear and rage at seeing any one of them laying a finger on his lover’s weapon has his fire burning hotter and his fear spells literally stopping their hearts.  He can feel his mana quickly depleting as he first freezes the foul creature touching the Iron Bull’s ax then swings around to shatter it with his staff.

Behind him Adaar’s yelling something about alive.  He knows the Iron Bull’s alive?  Keep one of the Venatori alive?

There’s many things that can be done to the human body and still be deemed alive and in touch with reality.  To a point.

Surely one of the others will manage to keep their enemy alive for him.  Dorian, on the other hand, won’t settle until he’s killed one for every Charger and his Bull.

He smells the smoke and stench of burning flesh before he sees it.  By the time Cassandra comes over and forcibly grabs his staff and tugs it out of his hands the damage’s already done. 

Panting and completely drained of mana he falls to his knees, back of his hands resting against his thighs.  Varric’s got one of the enemy by the throat, the fool pointing wildly towards one of the buildings they’d passed on their way into town.  The Seeker’s glaring down at him, deep scowl marring her face at the mage’s stupidity. 

Adaar’s suddenly kneeling in front of him, grabbing one of his hands.

“What’re you doing?  We need to go-!”  Dorian goes white in the face when the Inquisitor gently spreads the fingers on his left hand.  He looks down and finally sees the burnt mess that is his hand.

“Cassandra.  Varric.  Go retrieve our missing friends.  Dorian and I’ll join you shortly.”

Dorian jerks his hand out of his grip.  “No!  I’m fine.  Just give me a potion and I’ll be good to go.”  He stands only to sway in place.  The pain’s catching up to his brain and if he stops now he won’t get up.

Adaar’s quick to follow, firm hold to his elbows to keep him upright.  “Fine.”  A potion finds its way to his mouth, poured in with none of the finesse the Iron Bull possesses.  Some dribbles down his chin and he goes to wipe it off only to hiss as the throbbing ache of the burn is joined by the tingling of the healing potion.

“Let’s go.”  He’ll deal with his hands later.  Right now they need to find the Iron Bull and his children so Dorian can talk Cassandra into beating them all with his staff for falling into a trap.

~*~

Later, with the Iron Bull and his Chargers in possession of a few extra bruises curtesy of both Varric and Cassandra, Dorian sat in the healer’s tent frowning.  The healer gently slathers his hands front and back with burn slave.  In what should be a soothing voice she explains that it’s best to have them heal naturally for now, they won’t scar, since his mana’s still depleted. 

The Iron Bull sits behind him, holding him still as light linen’s wrapped around each finger then the hand as a whole.  He and his boys were seen to as soon as they’d arrived to camp, Dorian allowing no less after finding out they’d been imprisoned for the past week.

The healer addresses the Bull, informing him of the care Dorian will require now with his hands bandaged.  Dorian just stares at his useless lumps of white bandages for hands.  Now he’s regretting not holding back.  So many instructors had warned about the dangers of not keeping his magic in check while casting and now he knows why.

Quietly he lets the Iron Bull get a grip on his elbows and lift him to his feet, following him out of the healer’s space into their own tent.  Once inside he’s slowly lowered to their shared bedroll.  A kiss to his forehead, a murmured ‘wait’, and he’s alone.  The great ax in the corner makes his hands throb anew at the memory of battle.  The flickering of candlelight and he’s curling up, forcibly restraining himself from clenching his hands around a phantom staff.  He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against his knees to block it all out.

He’s just brought his breathing down to a reasonable pace when there’s a hand in his hair.  He doesn’t move and the Iron Bull places a reverent kiss to the back of his head, pausing to breath in his scent.  Dorian doesn’t move and neither does the Iron Bull.

They stay that way for several minutes, bodies aching and rampant thoughts slowing down.  Only when Dorian shifts his face to the side so the Bull’s lips rest just under his eye do they break apart.  A kiss to the beauty mark and the Bull puts a hand to either side of Dorian’s face, cradling him a moment before gently uncurling him from his protective position.

“Lay back for me?”

With a sigh Dorian straightens out, suppressing a groan at the strain of battle catching up with him.  The Iron Bull helps ease him down onto his back.  “Shouldn’t I be doing this for you?  You are the one who just spent a week holed up by the enemy.”

With a nod at his hands the Iron Bull asks, “And how were you going to help me, Kadan?”  He smiles and noses at Dorian’s bent knee to take out any sting the question may have caused.  “It’s been too long since I got to spoil you.”

“Well then,” Dorian waves generously at his body with a bandaged hand, “have at.”

Starting at the bottom he removes muddy boots, digging his thumbs into the arches of bare feet.  Once the he sees the tension leave Dorian’s lower half he moves on to the trousers, unbuckling and snapping straps to ease it all off, leaving the mage in plain smallclothes.  He looks at the bloodied and torn top before glancing up at Dorian, question in his eye.  At Dorian’s nod he grips the collar in both hands and rips it down the front, gently pulling the sleeves over damaged hands.

A quick wipe down with the wet rag scented with jasmine oil has Dorian feeling at least halfway decent again.  He relaxes onto the furs and blankets as the Iron Bull takes his time cleaning every exposed inch of his body.  “Once my hands are healed,” he promises the Bull.  A kiss to his stomach seals the deal.

“You haven’t been eating enough again,” the Bull chastises softly.  All the muscle’s there but the soft lining of fat has disappeared.  A frown pulls at the Iron Bull’s lips.  It takes more than a week for that much to have disappeared.

Dorian sighs heavily.  “I may have missed a few meals while you were gone.  I got a break a couple days after you left.  I’m closer to discovering Corypheus’ real name.”  He rests the back of his hand against the space between the Bull’s horns lightly in apology. 

The Bull carefully takes his hand and places a kiss on the bandage before resting it on Dorian’s stomach.  Pulling a pile of pillows over he helps Dorian sit up so they can prop him up.  “Good thing I came prepared, huh?”  The Iron Bull pulls back to reach behind him.  Bringing his hand back around Dorian can see a bowl full of stew with a thick slice of bread balanced on the rim.

“You have a fetish, I swear.”

“Mmmm, but it involves you so it’s all good.”

The bread’s set aside, the Bull’s knee acting as an impromptu plate.  The Iron Bull gets a spoonful of stew and holds it inches away from Dorian’s waiting mouth.  He opens his mouth and-

“Don’t.  You.  Dare.”

“Aww, you’re no fun, Kadan.”  Denied the chance to make funny noises the Bull waits for him to open his mouth and feeds him the first bite.    A drop escapes his mouth and he maneuvers the spoon around so he can wipe it away with his thumb.  “Messy.”

Dorian flicks out his tongue to lick the bland liquid.  “You like it.”  He sucks the Bull’s thumb into his mouth, fluttering his lashes at him suggestively.  The playful moan turns into a whine as the Bull pulls free and scoops up more stew.  This time when the spoon goes in his mouth he purposely lets enough dribble down his chin.  _Your move, amatus._

The Iron Bull takes the challenge he sees in his lover’s eyes.  Darting forward he slowly licks the trail of stew off his mage’s chin, pausing briefly to leave a kiss at the corner of his mouth.  Dorian tries to turn his head in time to catch the Bulls’ lips but the Qunari pulls back.

“No dessert until you finish your dinner, big guy.”

“You’re no fun,” Dorian pouts, aborting the move to cross his arms when his hands bump painfully against his torso.  Instead he lays there, in nothing more than skimpy smallclothes and a put upon frown, as his lover feeds him until there’s nothing but a few sips of broth at the bottom of the bowl.

Setting the spoon aside, the Iron Bull rests the bowl in his lap.  Picking up the discarded slice of bread he tears off a piece and dips it in the leftover broth.  Once it’s soaked up enough he lifts it to Dorian’s lips.  Dorian pauses, weighing the fullness of his belly against the promise in the Bull’s eye.  With a sigh he opens his mouth.  A few more bites won’t hurt, the bread sure to absorb some of the food in his belly.

The bread’s gone in a handful of bites, bowl wiped clean.  Gathering up spoon and bowl the Iron Bull goes and hands off the items to a solider passing by.  They exchange a few words and then the Bull’s back by Dorian’s side, striping as he goes.

“How’re you feeling, Kadan?”  He kneels over Dorian’s legs, hands braced on muscular thighs beneath him.

“Upset that I can’t touch you.”  Dorian lays his hands up above his head.  “At least, I can’t touch you even if you told me I could,” he amends.  He eyes the Bull’s thickening cock hungrily.  Legs trapped beneath the Bull’s weight he shifts his hips, smalls tenting from anticipation.  His back arches in desire as calloused hands slide slowly up his thighs.

The Bull smirks at him evilly.  “Come, Kadan,” he commands.

With a cry Dorian soils his smalls untouched.  He lays there shaking, his spend soaking the fabric and dripping down the crack of his ass.  “I hate you,” he pants as the Bull shoves his hand into his smalls to cup his softened cock, rubbing the fluid into his skin.

“I’m sure you do.”  His hand travels further south, teasing at his opening.  Precome drips from his cock as he leans over Dorian.  The mage’s stomach jerks reflexively as the liquid lands on him.  Finger covered in Dorian’s seed presses in past the tight ring of muscle.  Sucking on a nipple he quickly works on loosening Dorian up, moaning as Dorian clenches down on him, imagining how good it’ll feel to have that pressure around his cock again.

Gathering up more cum the Iron Bull presses two fingers in, scissoring them slowly but firmly, adding a third.  Switching nipples he grabs the bottle of oil with his free hand, opening it and carelessly pouring it over his straining erection.  Once four fingers can thrust in and out with little resistance from his whimpering mage he rips the flimsy scrape of fabric separating them and tosses it aside.

Hands covered in cum and oil grab the backs of Dorian’s thighs and push them up and out, causing Dorian to slide down a little and giving the Bull a perfect view of his stretched out hole and cum stained dick and balls.  The Bull grins as he watches the ring of muscle try to clench down on nothing.

“Just think of all things I’ll have to help you with now, Dorian.”  Pushing thighs nearly to the mage’s shoulders the Bull lines his cock up with Dorian’s hole.  “I’ll have to help you eat and drink.”  He slowly thrusts in to the hilt, swallowing Dorian’s gasp of pleasure.  He breaks the kiss as he pulls out just as slow.  “Have to help you with all your clothes.  May just have you walk around in my circus pants.  Much easier than your _fancy britches_.”

“Maker, don’t _say that_ in her voice while you’re fucking me!”

The Bull chuckles.  He grabs Dorian’s wrists and situates them to hook around his own legs at the knees.  Getting a firm hold on the mage’s waist he again commands, “Come!”  As soon as Dorian’s asshole clenches from his orgasm the Bull starts thrusting in short bursts, making sure to hit Dorian’s sweet spot each time.

“Gonna have to help you bathe.”  The Iron Bull can feel his balls tighten.  He quickens his pace.  “Help you use the privy.”

“Yo-you savage!”  Dorian tosses his head from side to side, unable to touch should the Bull permit.  His body trembles as the Bull slaps his thigh, clamping down as hard as he can around the Bull’s thick cock.  When the Bull orders him to come for the third time he’s coming dry and bearing down just a breath more.

It’s just enough.

They both sigh as the Bull empties himself deep within Dorian.  For several minutes they stay locked together, foreheads pressed together and panting breathes mingling.  They pause to kiss as the Bull’s softened cock slips out.  The Iron Bull asks for dominance and Dorian gives it freely.  Breaking apart the Bull eases Dorian’s legs up enough to release his wrists and lower his legs. 

“I’ll clean you up in a bit,” the Bull promises.  Hands on Dorian’s knees he keeps the mage’s legs spread.  Single eye watching as his come leaks freely out of Dorian’s stretched out asshole.  Dipping two fingers in easily he scoops up some of his come.  Holding it out to his mage he promises, “I’m going to be your hands.”

Dorian sucks his warrior’s fingers into his mouth, cleaning them off.  “I look forward to it,” he says as soon as he releases the Bull.


	3. Captured feat. Prisoner!Dorian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian's been caught by a group of Venatori.

Surfacing’s always an exercise in fear.  He never knows if he’s going to choke on his food, if his breathing’s going to be the only one left, or if it will be his last time aware; dead before he gets to lay eyes upon his lover one last time.  The hope of actually surviving diminishing with each return to reality.

The familiar clang of metal ladle against metal pail is what brings him back to awareness daily (several times a day?)  His heart beats faster, his breathing quickens.  Chains attached to ankles and wrists start ringing as his body vibrates from panic.

He hates feeding time.

He can smell the poor Qunari forced into serving before he’s anywhere near his personal cell.  Every handful of feedings there’s a new slave used to feed the prisoners.  None of the other prisoners ask and they’re never told.  The new scent covers up the stench of piss and shit, the primal fear wafting off of all the prisoners.  The refreshing scent of weapon’s oil and the outdoors has him homesick for Skyhold before he could stop himself.

Out of habit he opens his eyes.  But the world is still pitch black from the thick blindfold, crusty from tears of pain and frustration.  The itch of unkempt beard makes him cringe.  Greasy hair falling in his face is worse.  Bruises and scabbed over cuts from interrogation pulse in time with his heart.  His shoulders and wrists burn from the position he’s forced to endure:  toes barely touching the ground as arms are restrained by thick chains on either side of the cell.  One shoulder’s a hasty move away from dislocating from the rough treatment of feeder and captors.

The clanging of the food bucket’s getting louder, closer.  Not many prisoners left if the beast is moving so quickly.  Once it’s close enough the scrape as food’s ladled up and shoved down his throat will drown out the moaning and cries, even his, for a little while.

He doesn’t bother to lift his head when he hears the unfortunate beast stop outside his cell.  He hears the key turn, the cell door screech open.  Labored breathing drowns out his own as the bucket’s set on the ground.  A hand in his hair to pull his head up, the sharp pain new and causing him to open his mouth obediently. 

The too wide spoon, full of stale bread soaked in leftover broth barely passable for consumption, pauses half way in his mouth.  The corners of his mouth ache and the cracks from dehydration reopen.  He pants through his nose as the beast remains still.  His head’s tilted from one side to the other.

Whatever the beast sees pleases him because he upends the spoon enough to allow the sludge down his throat.  Shuddering he swallows it all down.  Drags his tongue along his teeth to rid it of the lingering bits of bread.  Another spoonful is shoved, gentler this time, into his mouth

He’s never been fed this much since he was captured.

When his lips start bleeding the spoon is abandoned.  Thick fingers scoop up the meal and feed him, not pulling out until he closes his lips round the digits and suck it all off.  Several times this happens, his stomach beginning to complain from so much food.

The hand leaves off feeding him when he begins to let it dribble out, welcoming a punishment than to have his stomach rebel.  It travels down, other still holding his head up to the weak light illuminating the prison.  Over his beard, over prominent collarbones and ribs, slowly as if he’s counting each one.

But they never enslave one smart enough to count.  Too risky.

Jeering captors have them both jerking away.  Dorian cries out as his shoulder finally slips from its socket.  The Qunari growls low in his throat, the heat he radiates no distraction from the pain.

“Lookie here, boys.  Seems like our ox man’s got an interest in our traitor!”  Voice shrill and manic pinpoints him as the leader. 

A deeper voice, the one who enjoyed using his fists and boots against the bound mage’s flesh, asks, “You don’t think…”

‘None of you think,’ he wishes to say.  But the collar digging tightly into his throat made just swallowing food enough of a chore.  The pain fades as the beast puts his fingers back in his mouth, pressing down on his tongue.

“Yeeeeah!  Go on, savage!  Here!  Here!  Take the keys and let him down!”

“We’ve all heard the rumors.  He likes big guys like you!  Let him down and go ahead and have a reward for being such a good slave on your first day!”

The keys jangle as one of the Venatori get close enough to hand them over to the Qunari.  The world goes silent, Dorian desperately wishing to retreat back into his head at the thought of being taken by some faceless beast for his captors’ entertainment.

Heart pounding in his ears he fails to hear several bodies hitting the ground in quick succession.  The thumping of several pairs of boots echoing down the hallway’s much easier to hear.  He fears the wrong kind of audience until the one voice he’s been aching to hear beaks through it all.

“Kadan.”

Keys, two sets this time, rattle as they’re unlocking his shackles.  Delicate hands wrap around his dislocated arm while muscular arms encircle his torso.  Head resting against a familiar shoulder Dorian tries his best not to tense as he’s freed and carefully lowered onto the dirt floor.

The heat of more torches wash over his naked body and he sighs in relief.  Someone sets his shoulder before he knows it and he can’t even gather up the effort to cry out.  A strong arm cradles him as a waterskin is pressed to his lips.  He drinks as fast as the hands allow him.

A knife to his throat, slicing cleanly through the magic blocking collar when he starts choking.  Water goes to his blindfold, soaking the material before carefully peeling it away.

“He’s so thin!” someone whispers, distraught.

“Can I…?”

Something thick and creamy is smeared on his lips, setting them tingling as they slowly heal.  “Only small bits.  He may have had too much already.”

Blurry figures dance around him when he finally opens his eyes.  The room dim enough but too much time has passed for him to adjust with a couple blinks like he’d wished.  Unable to focus enough to track anything he resolves to just lay there as the world moves around him.

Thumb and finger gently grab his chin, pulling his jaw down enough for a small chunk of bread to slip past salve-covered lips.  Blinking slowly he closes his mouth and sucks weakly on the piece.  Swallowing proved to be harder than with the water.

The Iron Bull, _the dumb ox man hired is his Bull_ , adjusts his hold so he rests higher while healing hands travel over his limbs and torso.  The new position along with a sip of water enables him to swallow down the bread.  The hands on him has him jerking weakly each time they land on him.

As he lays there taking piece by piece of rations, the Iron Bull is mentally screaming.  His Kadan is so thin, so frail right now.  Lady Vivienne heals what she can so they can travel to camp then back to Skyhold for proper healing.  But when her hands go over his eyes to heal the irritated skin from the blindfold causes Dorian to jerk violently.

When the Iron Bull moves to hold his wrists down, to prevent him from striking out at her, Dorian unleashes a small shaky ball of fire.  It lands safely away from everyone, no sight or control to give it actual direction.

The Iron Bull silently mourns for his lover.  Even after everything has physically healed he knows how disappointed Dorian’s going to be when he realizes.

It will be a long time before blindfolds and restraints, two of Dorian’s favorite things, are welcomed back into the bedroom.


	4. Bound feat. Adaar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not easy recovering from trauma. Continuation of Captured.

It took them a month to get him comfortable enough, secure enough, to sleep with almost no lighting.  By the second week Dorian had been so upset with his “ridiculous” fear that he had extinguished all but the fire roaring in the hearth.  A satisfied nod and they retired to bed.

Only moments later he was sweating against the Iron Bull’s side, failing to calm his breathing.  After being talked through the anxiety attack they’d gotten up and relit all but two candles.

“Slowly, but surely,” the Bull had reassured.

The next night two more candles were doused at bedtime.  The next he let Bull have the honors as he sat on their bed, belly full and wrapped in their thickest and warmest blanket.  Two by two the multitude of candles were put out and away.

Each night he slept with his back to the Bull’s side, arms wrapped around one of Bull’s as he used his shoulder for a pillow.  Laying like that had him facing the fireplace.  Each night as the candles became less and less, he fell asleep with the light of the fire dancing against closed eyelids. 

Finally, halfway through the fourth week, he did it.  With only the light from the fireplace to keep the memories at bay, he shifted around until the side of his face was smushed against the Bull’s chest.  Fine tremors ran along his still too thin body.  When he closed his eyes barely any light registered.  Faintly he could hear the metallic jingle of the shackles over his ragged breathing, the scrap of ladle against-

Strong arms gently shifted him up to lay on top of the Iron Bull.  One arm wrapped around his waist as the other gently pressed his ear against his chest.  With that hand covering his exposed ear all Dorian could hear was the _thump-thumping_ of his Amatus’ heart.  The calming rhythm had him melting, the trembling he hadn’t noticed gradually ceasing as sleep claimed him.

During that stressful month they didn’t have just his sleep to worry about.  Dorian had lost so much weigh while being held captive.  What little fat he had was gone.  He had been fed so little that even his muscle mass was affected.   Skyhold’s healers and the Chargers’ Stitches gave them very strict instructions in regards to Dorian’s diet. 

That didn’t stop most of the Inner Circle and friends from leaving them bits of food wrapped in waxed paper outside their door.  Fresh fruits, cookies, smoked meats all piled upon the table next to the Bull’s reports.  Just sitting there waiting for the Bull to choose them to feed to his Kadan next.

But they had to start small.  Too much food or drink and they made a painful reappearance.  Light meals first, until he could build up to more complex stews.  Every night when they curled up by the fire for warmth somehow several pieces of sugary treats found their way past his lips and settled pleasantly in his belly. 

During all that they spent time rebuilding his stamina and strength.  The food helped give him energy and fatten him back up, but he could barely walk around their shared rooms without needing to pause for a breather.  Too long chained up without being allowed to move had atrophied him something fierce.  With the danger of wasting away and sleeping at night mostly fixed, they started building up his muscles.

Short jaunts around their rooms, out to the battlements, up and down the stairs.  Until he’d regained his color and didn’t look so gaunt he refused to go anywhere too populated.  So they made their rounds, further and further as his steps steadied, in the early mornings and late evenings. 

Adaar didn’t come visit them until the leaves had fallen and snow started dusting the ground.  Months had passed without having his favorite mage out in the battlefields with him.  He knew better than to ask _when_ he would be ready to come back out, but the worry was gnawing at him something fierce.

So when he entered their shared rooms to candle-lit darkness, he was a bit thrilled.  He wasn’t invited very often to share their bed.  Though he doubted that that’s where things were heading tonight.  He’s heard nothing about their getting up to their normal activities, beyond what Dorian’s shared of their resuming casual touches and kissing.

Careful not to get his hopes up to high, Adaar steps further into the room and bolts the door.  He walks quickly and softly into the main sleeping area where Bull had told him to meet them.

He finds them settled in front of the fireplace.  The Iron Bull’s sitting in one of those fancy wingback chairs that Dorian fancies so much.  Another wingback is next to him with a small round table between them.  On top of the side table was a plate full of bite size pieces of meats and fruits and vegetables.  Dorian is…

Dorian is absolutely _gorgeous_ in the firelight.  He’s bound in deep red and gold ropes.  The way they wind around his limbs and torso make it impossible for him to do anything aside from moving his head.  He’s nestled on top of one of their bed pillows, the plump one that Dorian uses to support his back while he reads in bed.

Now that pillow’s being soaked in drops of sweat and come.  Dorian’s skin is glistening in the light, and the shadows caused by his body do nothing to hide the trails of thick come leaking out of his ass onto the pillow. 

Without a word Adaar crosses over and takes his place in the second chair. 

Together the two qunari take turns feeding Dorian bits and pieces of the evening meal.  A chunk of broiled meat from Adaar, clever tongue licking his thick fingers clean as he pulls them away.  Steamed vegetables from Bull, even the ones he knows Dorian doesn’t care for.  “Still a little thin, Kadan,” he wheedles, “a few more bits?”

They feed him until he’s pleasantly, safely, full.  Shrunken belly slowly relearning its old size as they meticulously follow the healer’s and Stitches’ rules.  Bull’s ropework perfectly frames the slight bulge as his food settles.  Sips of heady wine wash away any lingering taste of vegetables.  When some of it “accidentally” spills out of the corner of his mouth…

Well, Adaar has no problem picking him up and settling him on his lap so that he may lick it up.  Neither Dorian nor the Iron Bull seem to have a problem with him licking at other places as well.


End file.
